Here one might live the life of golden days. The hotel on the Peak had the aspect of a fairy castle. “Monsieur admires the poster?” As a rule Sir John treated such advances with cold silence. Ray Plote would not leave a written explanation. Ruth wore a printed cotton kimono. The rear of the party was brought up by a large, powerfully-built man, with a bluff, honest, but rugged countenance, slashed with many a cut and scar, and stamped with that surly, sturdy, bull-dog-like look, which an Englishman always delights to contemplate, because he conceives it to be characteristic of his countrymen.
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